It was not in the winter / Our loving lot was cast! / It was the time of roses, / We plucked them as we passed!

No sun - no moon! / No morn - no noon - / No dawn - no dusk - no proper time of day -

For my part getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.

Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, Unnatural and full of contradictions; Yet others of our most romantic schemes Are something more than fictions.

Gold! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold!

And soon Their hushing dances languished to a stand, Like midnight leaves when, as the Zephyrs swoon, All on their drooping stems they sink unfanned.